The dawn broke over the Gray Rush in long, sullen bars of slate-gray and cold pewter, the river fog rolling through the alleyways of Lowbank like steam from a cooling dye vat. Pella Rook stood on a three-legged ash stool outside the kitchen porch, a cold chisel in her right hand and an iron mallet in her left. The morning air smelled of coal smoke, damp river clay, and the sour sourdough crust from Master Vane’s bakery ovens three doors down.
Above the porch top door beam hung the painted pine sign she had nailed to the timber siding four weeks earlier. MIRACULOUS DRAINAGE SUMMONS · PROMPT & WONDROUS RELIEF. The blue and gold paint, bought with the last of her tuition savings from the College, was already peeling from the damp river wind. Its gold-trimmed flourishes looked cheap and dramatic against the weathered cedar boards.
She set the chisel blade behind the upper iron nail and struck the blade collar once with the mallet. The nail groaned, pulling free from the soft timber with a sharp screech of rusted iron. She struck the second nail, and the board dropped into her waiting hand.
Sister Merrow stood in the doorway below, wrapped in a heavy gray woolen shawl. She held a steaming mug of boiled tea in her rough hands. She looked down at the painted board in Pella’s arms, her expression unreadable behind the deep lines of her face. The scent of chicory and tea mingled with the damp…
